She trailed behind him, past several closed doors until he finally opened one. Overhead lights flickered on as he entered, revealing a white, sterile bathroom.

He gestured to a low stool that he seemed to just conjure into the room, and she sat. He walked around her. Once, twice, then started a third time.

“Will you stop? You’re making me dizzy.”

“Close your eyes, then. I need to start again now you’ve interrupted me.” He sounded exasperated, and she stiffened before drawing her knees closer and hugging them to her body. “Relax. You’re safe.” He grazed a touch across the tip of her wing, and each of her muscles loosened, uncoiling into a sense of wellbeing.

“Okay,” she murmured. “I’m relaxed.”

“Maybe this won’t work.”

At his unexpected whisper, she opened her eyes to find him staring at his hand, as if the brief touch of her wings had marked him. When he saw her watching he lowered his hand, although his eyebrows remained drawn together.

“Sorry. Something just…occurred to me. Nothing to worry about.”

Not entirely satisfied, she fought to remember her calm state and closed her eyes again, then struggled not to open them straight back up. Without her sight, she could hear his every movement, and she caught his smoky scent every time he walked around her. She imagined his muscles moving beneath his clothes, the way his trousers bunched and strained across his thighs, and she wished he’d touch her wings even once more so she could feel the thrill of energy hum through her again.

Shame weighed on her. His touch on her wings—the greatest gift of intimacy she could bestow on another—and she was willing it to happen again. But her body called for him, as if it controlled itself.

“Don’t move.”

His quiet, stern voice startled her. She didn’t realise she’d moved.

“Okay. You can open your eyes. I just need to apply the ointment now. I’ve done the incantation.”

For a moment, she allowed herself to remain motionless and soaked up everything about him she could before she saw him again—the sound of every breath and every movement, and every memory of his appearance. Then she cracked one eye open, keeping her gaze down, away from the light. He moved in front of her and opened a small cabinet on the wall before taking out an unlabelled jar and popping off the lid. A stench of something rotting filled the room, and Ash pressed her hand to her nose.

“Ugh!”

“This is a mixture of herbs and soot.”

“Has it gone off?”

Lorn produced a spoon, seemingly from somewhere up his sleeve, and gave the contents of the jar a quick stir. “I don’t think so. Looks right to me.” He lifted the jar to his nose and winced almost imperceptibly. “Smells pretty good, too.” He met her gaze and stepped towards her. “Okay. In order to heal you, I have to put some of this on your wings. May I touch them?” His pupils dilated slightly as he spoke.

At the tingle between her legs, Ash’s breath caught. “You’ve put your hands on them before. Why ask, now?”

“This could feel more like a massage…more intimate.” His gaze bored into her, but she couldn’t look away. The air in the room grew heavy with tension.

She almost refused him, but the idea of living the rest of her life with tattered wings filled her with despair…at least she told herself that. She couldn’t be sure if the idea of not being touched by him was worse.

He walked to stand behind her, and she heard his intake of breath.

“Is it very bad?” Small. Weak. Uncertain. She ticked off a list of unsatisfactory voice tones then grimaced at the realisation she sounded like Pan’s joke of a fluttering, dust-sprinkling fairy.

“On the contrary. They’re beautiful.” He slid his hands across her wings, the pressure light, as he smoothed his thick black ointment over them.

She moaned as waves of feeling sent a pulse right to her core. Leaning forward, she offered more of her wings to him and wished for him to press harder.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “You mustn’t. I just want to heal you.”

“Touch me.” She shifted, allowing her top to slip from her shoulder as she begged to feel his hands on her body.

“We can’t. I shouldn’t.”

But she could hear the doubt in his voice, and she moaned again as he caressed her wings before his fingers grazed the exposed skin of her shoulder.

“I didn’t bring you here for this. I saved you.” Panic rang in his tone, but his hands didn’t stop moving across her.

“Don’t stop.” But her skin rose in goose bumps as he moved back, breaking their contact, and frustration pulsed somewhere deep inside her.

“I’ve put the ointment on. Now I just need to bind them.” His footsteps clicked against the tile as crossed the bathroom. “I’m just getting the bandages.” His words flowed over her, warm like an embrace. At least he wasn’t leaving her.

She blew out a controlled breath, low and slow. But who was she kidding? That was no controlled breath. She’d just sighed over losing the sensation of his skin against hers. Behind her, Lorn made little noise, and she strained to hear what he was doing.

Finally, he returned to stand next to her wings. His body heat warmed her, and she stiffened in anticipation of his touch once more.

“There’s just one rule with the binding. You mustn’t remove the bandages while you are here with me. They need to remain on to complete the healing process.”

Confusion stirred her thoughts. “But if my wings are wrapped in bandages, I won’t be able to use them.” Disappointment replaced the confusion. Lorn wouldn’t be able to see them…or touch them. She wouldn’t feel his hands on them again. She swiped away a sudden tear before it slipped down her cheek. She couldn’t lose some future event she didn’t have. Wouldn’t grieve it.

He worked with quiet efficiency. She’d have thought he hadn’t been moved before at all. His hands didn’t seem to tremble, and he didn’t once fumble a bandage end or lose track of what he was doing. He didn’t speak, either, though, and his breathing came in spurts rather than being even, so she guessed he wasn’t entirely unmoved, and satisfaction rose within her.